The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2)

by Joseph Schembrie

  The old man didn't seem to hear. “What is it that we may do for you?”

  “In trade for my story I would like to hear a story too.”

  An hour later, Carrot returned to the clearing of the abandoned village. Norian was snoozing and Mirian was sitting cross-legged with arrow and bow resting in her lap. Mirian's eyes lighted at the gift basket and she popped nuts and berries into her mouth as Carrot relayed the tale of the wise man.

  “Erto says that in the days of his grandfather, their village was set here as we see, close to the road. A group of men came through with a cart that had a blanket thrown over its load. The travelers stayed for the night and warned that no one was to go near the cart. However, when the travelers were preoccupied, a group of villagers ventured near the cart out of curiosity. It was then that a young woman's voice came from under the blanket and spoke to them, even though there was not enough room underneath for a person.”

  “It was the Box,” Norian said to Mirian. “It's able to talk.”

  “I gained that,” Mirian said. “So what did the Box say?”

  “Well,” said Carrot, “it asked if they had a request. They explained that their greatest concern for the future was whether there would be enough food in the years to come, for their land was so bounded, and their children growing so much, that they all had barely enough to eat as it was and they feared for future generations to share even smaller portions. They asked the unseen woman, whom they believed was a divine spirit, if she had magic that could make their crops grow better. She said no, that was not among her powers. She said, however, that she would make it so that there would be enough food for their children.”

  “Uh oh,” Mirian said. “I can tell where this is going.”

  “Let her finish,” Norian said.

  Carrot continued: “And up until that time, the people of the village were normal size, but thereafter the children born were half size – as they all are today.”

  “I see,” Norian said. “They did not realize that the Box intended to resolve the discrepancy between the fixed amount of food and the growing number of mouths by reducing the size of the mouths. Who indeed would foresee such an outcome?”

  “Anyone who has heard a typical fairy tale,” Mirian replied. “With the typical moral, 'Careful what you wish for.' I'm surprised the villagers didn't kill the travelers in anger.”

  “At the time,” Carrot said, “they didn't know any of this would come to be. It was several months before the first dwarfish child was born.”

  “Where did the travelers take the Box?” Norian asked.

  “To the north. And here is another coincidence. At the time, the village chief said, there was no such thing known as a troll. Yet shortly after, when their own children were starting to be born small, the villagers heard rumors of a tribe of fearsome giants who dwelt in the north lands beyond the river.”

  “The trolls,” Norian said, “are perhaps descended from a people who wished upon the Box to become fearsome warriors.”

  “The little people were fearsome enough,” Mirian said. She glanced at the needle-like arrow shafts embedded in the meadow grass like stalks of wheat. “Now we go on to meet those whom they fear.”

  “I understand your reluctance,” Carrot replied. “If I were you, I too would question following someone as young as myself.”

  “Yet for now I'm willing to go farther.” Mirian arose and stretched. “What you did here today – well, it smacked of sense as well as courage. For the time, I have come to accept Norian's judgment of you.” She bowed with sweeping arms. “Lead on, your queenliness!”

  “Please don't address me so.”

  Mirian smiled. “Well, I understand people also call you a witch. Would you rather that?”

  “I. Am. Not. A. Witch.”

  “What's wrong with being a witch? To me it's a higher status than wizard, because it speaks of inherent powers as well as those acquired.”

  “Mirian,” Norian said. “If Carrot wishes to be known as a commonplace human – though why anyone would – let her be.”

  And so for the day, at least, Mirian did.

  Late afternoon came and the angle of the sun caused the trees to cast long shadows that enveloped the path in gloom and chill. They passed a couple of traveler encampments and considered halting for the day themselves, but Carrot knew from the aerial view that she had memorized that the legendary Land of the Trolls was near. They pressed on, and over a ridge they spied the river.

  “The River Troll,” Mirian said.

  Whether or not the people of the northern lands were as described, the River Troll was big and even in a sense hairy, with frothing rapids splattering against outcroppings of jagged rocks. It would have been difficult to ford under any circumstances, but then – along the southern bank grew the hedge.

  The Hedge towered ten meters high, dark leaves and interwoven vines so dense that no light penetrated. The walls of Londa were easily outclassed. The vegetation seemed as solid as stone.

  “Do you suppose it does devour people?” Norian said.

  “Let's not find out.” Mirian tugged him back.

  “Let's try the bridge,” Carrot said.

  The remains of the old road descended to the river bank, to what Matt's satellite view had shown was a bridge. To their sight on the ground, it appeared to be a square four meters on a side, embedded in the face of the hedge, which at their new viewing angle blocked sight of the river and land beyond.

  “I smell copper,” Mirian said.

  Carrot nodded. Her metal-sense sensed that while the structure itself might only be made of wood, it was encased in sheets of metal.

  The building had a single door, about three and a half meters high. There was a sign by the door. In faded yet ornate script it read:

  KINGDOM OF HENOGAL.

  TOLL BRIDGE. (NO PUNS PLEASE.)

  ALL VISITORS MUST HAVE SPONSORS.

  TOLL IS ONE KILO SILVER FOR EACH VISITOR.

  NO REFUNDS.

  “Stay here,” Carrot said.

  She approached the door. She stretched and reached the knocker and slammed it several times. They waited.

  Above the knocker was a hand-size porthole, whose cover slid aside. A pair of eyes set beneath bushy eyebrows glared. A scent, human and yet not, wafted to Carrot's nostrils.

  “What do you want?” a deep voice rumbled. It was the deepest voice Carrot had ever heard.

  “We are visitors,” Carrot said. “We wish to pass over the bridge.”

  “Where are your sponsors?”

  “What do you mean, 'sponsors?'”

  “Sponsors are Henogalian citizens under royal license to serve as keepers of humans during the visitations of said humans into the sovereign Kingdom of Henogal.”

  “Where might we find sponsors?”

  “Do I look like a tour guide? That's your business.” The cover slammed shut.

  Carrot knocked again. And a few more times. The cover remained shut.

  Mirian broke the silence: “For the record, we don't have three kilos of silver either. Although I have an idea for a troll sponsor. Carrot, climb onto Norian's shoulders and wrap your sleeping blanket over – ”

  “Shall we try the hedge?” Norian asked. “See if we can chop our way through?”

  They stepped off the path, walked around the building, approached the hedge. Carrot inspected the length for a few meters, hoping to see a break, if not something to slip through then at least a glimpse of light from the other side. It was a complete barrier.

  The black leaves started to stir. Carrot thought at first it was the breeze. Then she realized there was no breeze. Then the vines twitched, revealing thorns as long as her arm. Carrot drew her sword and approached.

  Suddenly, like tentacles of a sea monster, a thorn-covered vine lashed. Carrot hacked and her blade sparked as it struck the vines. It did not cut. Carrot dodged the dagger-like thorns. Before the vine could whip at her again, she scrambled away.

  Mirian
touched Carrot's forearm. It had a nasty scratch. Mirian opened her pack, rubbed a salve over the wound. The salve was soothing, but the puncture took longer to dissipate than Carrot expected.

  Mirian asked. “So how do we get through? Or do we?”

  Carrot absent-mindedly rubbed her arm as she regarded the monolithic silhouette of the hedge in the dusky twilight.

  “We must return to Ravencall as soon as possible,” she said.

  “We're giving up?” Mirian asked.

  Norian observed Carrot's skyward gaze and broke into a grin.

  “No, Mirian,” he replied. “We're going up.”

  8.

  Two morning later, Matt awoke on the floor of his hut at Fish Lake with a start. He caught his breath and rubbed his forehead, frowning.

  “Wow, I just had a strange dream,” he said.

  Ivan responded: “I have a suite of dream analysis applications which may be informative.”

  “Forget it. It was just a dream.”

  He was still thinking about the dream as he dressed, as he walked to Ravencall in the morning chill, as he ate breakfast at the meal hut, and as he started to work at the hangar. He thought about it as he was supposed to be inspecting, reviewing, approving plans.

  Prin handed him a clipboard and Matt signed off the papers and handed it back. Prin, instead of leaving, remained to look at Matt oddly.

  “You seem distracted,” Prin said.

  “Why do you say that?” Matt asked, trying not to sound defensive.

  “Well, to begin with, you signed your engineering approval to the base football pool and weekly menu. Would your faraway look have anything to do with a certain flame-haired personage?”

  “I'm not sure.”

  Prin motioned him aside to a walk-in storage locker, so that they could not be seen or heard by the lieutenants whom Krobart had sent to watch them from a few paces distance. “Why don't you tell me and I'll help you decide.”

  Suddenly Matt found that he had to talk about it: “I had a dream. There was a girl on Earth I knew. She was here in Britan, and she told me to kiss Carrot.”

  “Which, you have done.”

  “Yes . . . . “ Once again, Matt marveled at the power and speed of the Britanian Gossip Machine.

  “When you were on Earth, did you have a special relationship with this particular young lady?”

  “We were just friends. Well, I was always hoping for something more back in those days, but we were just friends.”

  “Perhaps, then, the dream was your inner self giving you approval to leave the past behind. There is one thing I know for certain. Don't mention the dream to Carrot. She will assume you yet have feelings for your friend. Women often suspect the worst when it comes to the inclinations of men.”

  “Yeah, why is that?”

  “Long experience.”

  Minutes later, Matt crossed paths with Savora. It wasn't much of a coincidence, as Savora seemed to live in the hangar these days and had taken a major role in assisting the outfitting of the airship. It wasn't much of a meeting either: they simply traded glances. Savora went on as if nothing happened. Matt, however, was struck again by the Britanian's resemblance to Synth.

  “Ivan, do you suppose Savora triggered my dream about Synth?”

  “As I have stated many times, Matt, I am not qualified for in-depth psychological analysis. However, I do observe that it is known that the human mind operates by association rather than logic.”

  “In other words, I'm being illogical.”

  “Sometimes random association provides insights that logical deduction cannot.”

  Around mid-morning, Matt was accosted by a Leaf lieutenant. The lieutenant escorted him to the command hut. Krobart sat at a new and very large desk and wore an elaborately-decorated, tailored uniform with the collar insignia of colonel.

  “I've queried my officers on the status of training,” Krobart snapped without preamble. “It seems you are emphasizing the mere figuring of numbers over more practical matters.”

  “Mathematics is important,” Matt replied, “in order to understand the principles of navigation.”

  “Is not navigation simply a matter of steering by landmarks?”

  “What if you want to plot a course? What if you want to calculate your travel time and fuel expenditure? What if you're going to a destination where the landmarks are unknown?”

  “A destination such as the other side of the world?”

  Matt realized he had said too much. “Well, there are places even here in Britan that haven't been fully surveyed.”

  “Training must be accomplished as quickly as possible.” Krobart shuffled his papers loudly. “Now, another matter. What has happened to the girl?”

  “Girl?”

  “Don't feign ignorance. You know who I mean.”

  Matt shrugged. “I don't know where Carrot went.”

  “She's an officer in the Leaf. She can't just wander off. Being away without leave is a serious offense against regulations.”

  You didn't give her any assignments. Matt, having grown up in a post-Singularity society where wars were obsolete and military discipline had become all but extinct, privately rankled. Nonetheless, part of him admitted that Krobart had a valid purpose in imposing discipline; the Romans weren't going to be defeated by a herd of kittens. Still, in Matt's opinion Carrot had been right to leave on her quest, and in the current situation it seemed to Matt that Krobart was only throwing his weight around.

  Balancing all the factors in the issue of how much to disclose about Carrot's activities to Krobart, Matt chose not to retaliate to Krobart's badgering questions, yet neither did he cooperate.

  After Krobart curtly dismissed him, Matt wanted to be alone to think. He wandered to the fence behind the hangar, faced the woods and growled to Ivan, “Do you know where Carrot is?”

  “I have been unable to locate her via satellite reconnaissance due to adverse weather conditions.”

  “I should have gone with her. For all the good I'm doing here. Krobart will never let us explore the Other Side. I can tell, he wants us to finish training so that he won't need us to run the ship. The reason for this fence he's built around the hangar is so that one day I'll come up to the gate and won't be allowed through. He really believes a single airship is enough to stop the entire Roman Empire. Prin and and Andra and Archimedes and me, we keep telling him . . . by the way, where is Archimedes?”

  “I have no record of Archimedes in my telemetry archives for today.”

  “He used to spend all his time at the base. I hope he didn't feel that I thought he was in the way.”

  “Matt, Savora is approaching you.”

  “Oh Matt! There you are!”

  Matt whirled. Savora smiled and blinked. Or – Matt wondered – was this the feminine 'batting of the eyelids' that other males had spoken of? He had already noticed that there was an element of precision to her mannerisms, as if calculated for optimum effect.

  “Hello, Savora. Something I can do for you?”

  She bore a cup in each hand, holding one out to him. “I thought you might like a refreshment.”

  “Well, uh – “

  “It's apple cider. I made it myself.”

  He wasn't thirsty, but for some reason he felt that he owed her a favor. He bowed and took the cup. The liquid was dark and smokey and he had a moment's hesitation. She looked at him expectantly, almost pleadingly.

  She raised her cup. “To the Project.”

  “Project?”

  “Yes, the Airship Project.”

  “Oh. Right.” Matt raised his cup.

  She drank deep, and Matt overcame his hesitation and copied. The natural flavor was sharper than any cider he'd tasted from a beverage printer. He decided he liked it.

  “This is nice,” he said. “Tangy.”

  He reflected that making cider wasn't something he'd normally expect Synth to do. Doing anything that didn't involve a complex mathematical equation was beneath Synth. Perha
ps, then, Savora wasn't Synth. Standing there, watching her, the very idea seemed far-fetched.

  Still – People do change. Especially over centuries.

  “Matt, I was wondering about when you plan to leave on your journey.”

  He contemplated the foam clinging to the rim of the cup. “At this rate, never. The Leaf is making it clear, they control the airship now and they won't approve the mission.”

  “Surely you'll find a way to gain their approval!”

  “I'm not even sure anymore that the mission is necessary.”

  “You were in search of your brother! Surely you care for your own family!”

  “My archival clone disappeared a century ago. There's been no mention of him since. He's probably dead.”

  “Aren't Wizards immortal?”

  “We can live a long time, but we can still 'die the real death' as it used to be called. This is not a safe planet and I've come close to dying for good several times already even though I've only been here a few months. I can't imagine him being able to survive here for decades.”

  “But he's your brother! Surely you can't abandon him!”

  Matt hotly replied: “Even if I had absolute proof that he was alive, do I have a right to drag others along with me on a dangerous mission? What's the value, what's the risk? No one in Britan and no one in Rome seems to know anything about the Other Side. It's like anyone who tries to cross over doesn't come back, and the same in the other direction. Something is stopping them and no one lives to tell about it. I can't ask others to come along when I don't know the risk.”

  On impulse, he drained the rest of the cup. It had a pleasant buzz, though Ivan's analysis of the chemical content, appearing in a pop-up window in Matt's vision, indicated no alcoholic content.

  Matt continued: “And another, another thing.” He paused, aware that his tongue suddenly felt thick. “About Carrot. She's right to look for the Box. The Box is what matters. We should both look for the Box together here in Britan. Forget airship . . . because . . . because . . . . “

  Matt felt hot and flushed, and the world was wobbling.

  “Matt!” Ivan said. “My biometric sensors indicate that you have been drugged.”